


The lonely scriptures of a shopping mall

by A_Ghost_Called_Boo



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Nobinary Fun Ghoul, Nonbinary Agent Cherri Cola, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Other, Swearing, Trans Jet Star (Danger Days), Underage Smoking, Warnings specified at the begining of the chapter, tags to be expanded upon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Ghost_Called_Boo/pseuds/A_Ghost_Called_Boo
Summary: A collection of the writing pieces i post on mykilljoys sideblogon tumblr
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola & Party Poison (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Jet Star (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Jet Star & Party Poison (Danger Days), Val Velocity & Vinyl & Volume & Vamos & Vaya
Kudos: 19





	1. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Ghoul and Kobra escaped Battery City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was originally written for Day One of [ the Zone Five Quarantine Fun Fair ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/post/616414793392373760/zone-five-quarantine-fair) by [ @killjoynest ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Prompt: Beginings  
> Warning(s): None  
> Canon compliance level: Headcanon-compliant

Kobra sat on Ghoul’s bed as the latter dug through his closet. It was well into the night and though he knew no one would be out at this hour he listened carefully for anyone passing by the room’s door. Well, _room_ was an overstatement- he would sleep in storage closets that were bigger than this- but the only point of reference he had back then was his equally crammed room. Maybe it was just his nerves but he swore he heard someone whisper his name; not the one the City gave him, but _his_ name.

Ghoul broke him out of his thoughts by letting a small triumphant noise as he clutched a small robot toy to his chest. Kobra frowned to himself, not understanding how in the world some piece of plastic would help them, but let it go reasoning that as long as it made his friend happy, it didn’t really matter. They were friends, right? Kobra was pretty sure they were, but then again he’d never had a great deal of those.

The dark haired boy hopped onto the bed next to him, dropping the bag onto his lap with an ‘ _oomph_ ’ as it bounced to hit him in the stomach. The other boy only laughed at his misfortune, earning an elbow to the side that quickly devolved into a war that ended with Ghoul rolling off onto the floor in a mess of giggles. Once he’d calmed down, Kobra picked up the bag over and offered his friend his free hand as he pulled him back on his feet.

“Ready?“the taller asked, getting a determined nod in return. “Here goes nothing…“

Quietly cracking the door open, the two boys crept into the hallway, keeping as close to the wall as physically possible not to get caught by the cameras mounted above their heads. They moved swiftly with well practiced steps, exiting the dorms like cats into the night and scurrying in the safety provided by the shadows. The Academy’s forged iron fence towering above them was the last thing that stood between them their plans and as they climbed over it they could swear it had somehow grown twice in size compared to last time. Or maybe it just seemed it had because that time they weren’t ever coming back.

Their boots meet the pavement with a loud ‘ _thud_ ’ and for a painfully long moment they remain crouched, not daring to even breathe in case someone had heard them. By some miracle, the sky didn’t fall down and trap them under its weight, so the two reluctantly stood up again, Kobra taking the lead as he weaved in and out of alleyways he’d only seen on paper, heading towards what they could only hope to be freedom.

As they moved away from the center of the city, the world seemed to shift around them, pristine streets turning into ones littered with scrap pieces of metal, papers and mysterious puddles as buildings slowly decreased in size from twelve floor gigants to the tired six or four floor ones of the Lobby. Normally, that would’ve been where they had stopped, but this time they just kept walking until the buildings became widely spread apart and the junk created piles taller than Kobra and Ghoul stacked on top of each other.

They stopped at an old supermarket of sorts that was barely standing anymore, front window completely missing reduced to tiny shards littering the floor like a fresh layer of snow and an illegible sign hanging above the doors covered in grime. It was the last building on the edge of the cityline, the only thing left between it and the wall being an expanse of junk left carelessly to rust out in the open space. 

Kobra shrugged off the backpack to take out the makeshift remote they’d put together a few nights beforehand when Ghoul crouched down next to him and started rummaging through the bag as well before coming out with what seemed to be a marker. The former threw him a confused look, but the other boy only nodded to a separate part of the shop before taking off with a grin. Of course, the younger was quick in tow, freezing in the door of the defunct bathroom as his eyes darted between the grafittied stalls and the gaping hole in the celing- if it even could be called that anymore.

Ghoul either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, as he made a beeline for the closest cubicle wall and popped off the cap of the marker before waving his friend over to join him as an afterthought.

“’S for Destroya.“he explained, trying to focus not to misspelling his city name,”Is said that if ya’ write your name on one a’ these then Destroya’s gonna watch over ya’ wherever you’re goin’.“

The other nodded thoughtful and took the marker when the shorter passed it to him before quickly scribbling down his own city name. Kobra was never the superstitious type, but they needed all the luck they could get to pull off their plan unscathed.

As soon as they had arrived, they had to leave again, quickly packing their bag again and making it back to the front of the store. They remained hidden behind the building as Ghoul pressed a button on the remote.

5\. 4. 3. 2. 1…

An explosion went off not far from where they were staniding leaving a dent in the concrete wall and making a wide grin spread on the smaller boy’s face. People dressed in all-white soon rushed over to the explosion site, talking into black walkie-talkies, as the two boys ran behind them, going seemingly unnoticed as they ducked into the tunnel leading out into the desert. As they were jumping the car barrier something caught Kobra’s eye inside one of the booths as he snaked his way inside.

Ghoul, upon noticing the lack of a certain snarky ex-scarecrow cadet, turned around confused and marginally worried before he caught sight of the teen in question, jingling a pair of keys in his hand with a raised eyebrow. He nodded before taking off to follow the other back to the entrance of the tunnel where a set of three motorcycles were parked to the side. Kobra hopped onto the closest one, shoving the key into the ignition before he handed the dark-haired boy a helmet as he climbed on as well.

Before the younger could put on his own helmet, a voiced yelled at them to stop, but the person’s words got lost as Kobra hit the gas.

***

It was almost midday when the two undergrads had made it to the closest killjoy establishment, pulling over at Paradise Motel where a man called Tommy Chow Mein had set up a shop with about anything you could imagine. Between trading and the few carbons they had managed to bring with, the two ended up being able to buy some more decent clothes as well as some food and water.

They were walking back to their motorcycle- that had somehow gained some color in the whole ten minutes they were gone- when Ghoul leaned in to whisper something into Kobra’s ear.

“There’s a guy followin’ us“he pointed out, getting a small nod in return as the latter glanced behind them to see that a guy with a chuncky pink streak going through his dirty blonde hair was, in fact, walking in an eerily similar direction as they were.

The two continued walking like nothing was wrong and when they reached their vehicle Kobra waited a few seconds before turning around and decking the guy square in the jaw. The stranger stumbled backwards- clearly taken by surprise- and tripped over his own feet, landing in the sand behind him. Not wasting a moment, the teen took out a switchblade he’d stolen as Tommy pretended he didn’t notice it and put it up to the guy’s throat, straddling him.

“What do you want?“the boy glared, his steady voice somehow making the whole situation even more unsettling, even though no one around them even seemed to bat an eye.

The guy looked beyond shocked, but after swalloing thickly he answered.

“You don’t happen to have a sibling, do you?“he croaks out, wincing from the way the blade digs into his skin.

Now it’s Kobra’s turn to wear the shocked look.


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Val Velocity became a killjoy and a part of the Ultra Vs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was originally written for Day Two of [ the Zone Five Quarantine Fun Fair ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/post/616414793392373760/zone-five-quarantine-fair) by [ @killjoynest ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Prompt: Gangs  
> Warning(s): Death, Canon-typical Violence  
> Canon compliance level: Headcanon-compliant  
> Additional notes: Narration in second person POV

Leaving the City turns out to be the easiest part of your plan. All you have to do is sneak into one of the plain white vans and keep as quiet as possible from behind the unlabled carboard boxes until the engine comes alive with a steady buzz. The ride is silent, but the pounding in your ears and the quiet laboured breaths are enough to keep you company along with the quiet hum of static swimming in your ears. You feel dizzy, but you can’t tell if it’s because of the pills you didn’t take this morning or because you’ve finally made it out.

The doors pop open with a loud noise and your heart catches in your throat. You screw your eyes shut and send a silent prayer to a deity you’ve only heard about in passing whispers between brightly dressed strangers. If she hears your words, she doesn’t seem to care as a pair of hands grabs you by the collar of your standard issue plain white shirt and drags you out into the sand.

There’s two of them, a driver and supervisor, dressed in plain white with the smiling face of the better living logo staring you down. It’s funny how something that used to be comforting can twist into something twisted when you have a gun pressed against the back of your head. After an agonizingly long moment the sound of a blaster firing rings through the air.

It takes a while for the adrenaline to wear out, but when it does you slowly peer your eyes open to find out you’re very much still alive, a person with tan skin and bright orange hair squatting down to your level. They offer a quick smile before turning their head to look over their shoulder where three equally colorful people and a kid around your age with messy black hair stood.

“Vynil, i think we found you a friend.“

***

At 13 you shoot a drac dead for the first time, running for your life with Vinyl quick in tow. Phoenix was right, you think bitterly as the headlights of the draculoid cars turn into nothing more but a tiny spec of light behind you, in the three months you’ve known each other you and Vinyl have grown close. Close enough that when you both look up strugling to even breathe, you wordlessly make a promise that you’ll stick by each other no matter what.

The first few months are the hardest- no one wants another mouth to feed, much less two- but you make it work. You get passed around from crew to crew every few days or a week at best and even then you inevitably end up having to sleep on the floor of sketchy gas stations, but it keeps you fed and that’s what matters. Some night before falling asleep you try to pray- to the Witch, to Destroya, _to whoever the fuck is listening_ \- but nothing ever happens.

After a year of getting passed around like the Zone’s longest lasting game of hot potato, there’s a bitter taste left in your mouth and the decision that no one’s going to come save you under your tongue. So, with your new epiphany, you do the best thing your teenage can come up with- you make something of yourself. Sure, it’s easier said than done, but you sink your teeth deep into it and that keeps you afloat even in the darkest nights. Because you, Val Velocity, are going to go down in history. You’re going to go down in guts and glory. You’re going to be the God that you were never given.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you shivver in the back of a van half-burried in sand a mile off route Guano in Zone Three, huddled together with your best friend as you desperately try to catch some sleep before the burning ball of hydrogen dauntingly forces you outside again. You make enough carbons not to starve to death by selling scrapped piecies of better living tech from masks and scarecrow cars, though Vynil is always reluctant to let you go out to get in claps. Your aim’s gotten pretty good and if anything the latter can patch you well enough you’ll get to live at least another year and that’s good enough for you.

Vamos and Vaya just appear one day as you’re out trading some parts for Power Pup and battery packs. They aren’t older than you were when you first had made it into the desert, if not a little younger, but it’s obvious from the first glance that unlike you they had never known a life anywhere but in the desert. Despite having their whole crew ghosted, the twins go around, excitedly showing their matching marks where the blasters had grazed their skin- Vamos on their arm and Vaya on their leg. You never invite them to come with you, but soon the van gets obviously more cramped as the four of you awkwardly get adjusted to living together.

Vynil is the first to warm up to them- because he is honestly such a sweet person sometimes it makes you question what he’s doing hanging out with someone like you- and you eventually do too, growing fond of their childish shenenigans. The younger two teach you about Dr. D’s station and by pure luck and guesswork you make the van’s old radio work, even though albeit a bit patchy. That’s how you learn about the Party Poison and their crew who have their faces plastered all over the desert and Battery City and that is when you decide that one day you too will become as infamous as them.

***

Volume is the last to join the Ultra Vs. After you and Vynil save his life- even though that was far from your intentions- he swears to make it up to you somehow, which translates into him finding you a better place to sleep than in the back of some shitty old van, apparently. The Nest is pretty much where every killjoy that’s too broke to rent a room at the Motel ends up couch surfing at at least once in their lives. Because of this the old pre-war house appears more like permanent party, but without the music shaking the ground beneath it. Well, unless there is an _actual_ party going on, but that’s rare Volume reassures after he finishes talking to an older ‘joy that looks less than pleased by the news he’s delivered.

That night you all fall asleep under the sky at Vamos and Vaya’s requests and before you fall asleep you look either way at your crew sleeping as peacfully as it gets besides you. For the first time in a long time you feel yourself smile.


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Four were always supposed to end in a hail of violence and guns blazing, but even the the Witch was a little disappointed when that end came sooner rather than later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was originally written for Day Three of [ the Zone Five Quarantine Fun Fair ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/post/616414793392373760/zone-five-quarantine-fair) by [ @killjoynest ](https://killjoynest.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Prompt: Belief  
> Warning(s): Death, Brief blood mentions, Swearing  
> Canon compliance level: Headcanon-compliant, Universe Alteration  
> Additional notes: It’s my personal headcanon that the Witch takes the likeness of those whom the deceased person loved most in their lifetime to guide them to the afterlife, which is what Ghoul sees and is confused by

Seeing yourself in third person is wierd, Ghoul decided, as he looked down at an exact copy of himself sprawled in the sand. The other Fun Ghoul had blood trailing down his face from a deep cut that streched from near the right corner of his mouth almost all the way across his cheek as well as some dried blood caked on his forhead, peeking from under his mess of black hair. If he concentrated hard enough on the other’s face he could feel a ghost pain flare where the cut was supposed to be.

A loud ‘ _caw_ ’ noise startled him out of his thoughts, looking around confused until his eyes landed upon a strange human figure wearing coat, crouched over Kobra. With a frown he abandons his look-alike and marches over to the person, ready to give them a piece of his mind, but the words get stuck in his throat when they turn around to face him.

The stranger had light brown hair with pink and red streaks throughout, pulled back in a long ponytail that revealed an unkept blonde undercut and bangs that fell in their dark brown eyes speckled with flakes of greens and blues near the iris- they looked kind, but there was an unmistakable glint of mischief in them. Their skin had a darker tan and littered with faint freckles, their dimples showing as their mouth curled in a crooked smile that felt ever so slightly off-putting. Ghoul had never met this person before, he was certain of that, but for whatever reason he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were familiar…somehow.

“Fun Ghoul.“they greeted him, their voice sounding shattered and echo-y, like it actually was sevral people talking at the same time from the entrance of a cave.

“Get’away from ‘im.“the killjoy growled once he snapped back to his senses and the latter complied, stepping aside and allowing him to kneel beside his friend.

Kobra looked a little worse for wear than other-Ghoul, his face adorned with small cuts and scratches as well as an ugly purple bruise forming on his jaw. Carefully as to avoid looking at the dark crimson sand under the younger’s leg, Ghoul grabs him by the shoulder and gives him a shake. At first it was gentle- since Kobra always was a light-sleeper-, but when he didn’t show any sign of waking up the other started shaking him more violently. Still nothing.

“Kobes, c’mon, wake up.“he muttered, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head,”C’mon, dude, this isn’ funny. Please wake up.“

“He’s dead.“the stranged said, voicing the thought he desperately tried to avoid

“How d’ya know?“the dark haired killjoy snapped, but the strange person remained unphased.

“They’re all dead.“they said, then added as an afterthough,”You’re dead too, yeah?“

Ghoul shook his head. There was no way there were dead- there just wasn’t!- but as he looked around memories of a clap flooded his mind and made him sick to the stomach. It was only Korse and another few dracs, but when he looked back from yelling something at Poison the number of dracs had tripled and the exterminator was nowhere to be seen. A trap that they had fallen headfirst into.

“Shit.“he mumbled to himself. From the corner of his eye he could see the stranger tilt their head to the side, almost bird-like. “Shit. Tha’ means you’re…“

The deity noded and smiled that unnatural wide smile of theirs that made Ghoul involunarily shivver, but then frowned, “You don’t want to stay.”

“No.“the killjoy admitted with his head hung low, ”Don’ get me wrong, ‘m sure whateva’s up ther’ ‘s great, but i- _we_ can’t be dead. Not when the Girl ’s with ‘ _em_.“

Despite not mentioning the company’s name, the Witch’s features darkened in understanding and after what felt like an enternity she spoke up again, “What if we make a deal?”

“A deal?“he repeated, eyeing the deity cautiously.

“I let you go back, but no matter the means- you get the girl back here.“

“Deal.“


	4. What is a killjoy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxx getting all artsy fartsy about their headcanons in the middle of an existential crisiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): None  
> Additional notes: This was most likely written at...about 3am, so it may be a little nonsensical. Generally just really short

What _is_ a killjoy?

Is it someone whose mind became a haunted house by 16? Someone who has his own place in the world, but never quite belongs?

Is it someone who’s ran all their life like they are always being chased by a sandstorm? Someone with a personality so loud and flashy that it almost hides the scared child behind it?

Is it someone who’s been turned into a weapon by BLi? Someone who hates them for making him this way, but unable to stop the destruction around him?

Is it someone whose mind races like the black and white cars down Route Guano? Someone who’s made of so much bright colors and noise too loud and ink that bleeds and stars that shine that he almost drowns in it all?

Is it someone who brings hope? Someone who makes the big big scary world a smaller place, more managable, as long as you are together?

Sure, those are all things killjoys are, but that’s not what _a_ killjoy is. A killjoy is unique to who they are, that’s the beauty of it, no two killjoys are the same. A killjoy is an ever changing sea of color that shift in sync with the sands of time, coming in waves and tides of change and uncertainty.

So what does this mean to you? It means that you are art. The most beautiful thing a killjoy can be.


	5. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cildhood trauma: Fun Ghoul edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Abuse mention, General angst

One of the first things that they teach you in the City is “sorry”. You’re too young to be medicated, but old enough to tell right from left and wrong from right and that’s all they need. Every day you learn some new way in which you’ve fucked up and the word nestles its way into your bone marrow until it feels like it’s all you have to say anymore.

Your first problem, you learn, is that you cry too much; and for no reason too! But you _do_ have a reason. You have sevral, in fact. Like the other day for example, when your mum took you out to the shopping district to buy something or the other- you didn’t really care to know what it was, so you forgot. What you do remember though, is how _loud_ your headphones were. You tried to tell your mum, but when she finally gave in and checked the volume on your headphones she said nothing was wrong. Your headphones were still too loud, though, so you do the only thing left to do: you cry. Your mum isn’t happy with that either and you won’t calm down she promptly drags you back home. When you get there you apologise, but she acts like she didn’t hear you.

Your second problem is that you break things. You don’t mean to, or well, at least not most times. You like tearing things apart to see how they work, but you never mean to _destroy_ them. Your dad doesn’t see it that way, though. It happens one day when they’re both at home since you’re too young to be left alone just yet, but they are still working, usong your kitchen as a makeshift lab of sorts, though it seems to slowly encroach part the hall and living room as well. Your job is to stay in your room and quietly do whatever it is kids your age do, but of course, in true you fashion, you get bored and quietly creep out of your room. As you walk into the livingroom, trying to see if they’re playing Mousekat on the TV something catches your eye.

Sitting atop the bookshelf is a beaker with a clear liquid inside and tiny bubbles lazily making their way to the surface. You’re small and the bookshelf feels like a montain, but with the help of a chair and some boxes placed strategically in a tower-like fashion you can almost reach it. You press yourself against the wooden surface as hard as you can and strech your arm until you feel your fingertips brush against the glass container. That’s when it all goes wrong; you lose your footing and you land on the floor with a thud followed by the gut-wrenching sound of glass shattering. Your dad dashes into the room pausing in the doorway and taking in the scene with a grimace. As he steps forward you almost think that he’s coming over to comfort you, but Destroya knows your luck doesn’t work like that. Instead he tells you things. Bad things about how all you’ll do in life is break things, that it’s all you’re good at. He says it with so much conviction that it feels true; like he’s reading your future and not just spewing bullshit. Sometimes, years after you leave the City for a better place, you can still hear the words echo in the silence and it’s like no time has passed whatsoever as you cry yourself to sleep.

Your biggest problem, however, is that you speak too much. Words simply stumble out of your mouth, coming out in jumbled strings that slowly devolve into nonsense. That never really bothers you, since you and your parents are really the only ones to ever hear it, so it’s fine, but it all changes when you get admitted into The Academy- Battery City’s school for “gifted” students. With just a duffle bag slung over your shoulder you feel so small amongst all the other students, a faint bubbling feeling working its way up to your throat, but not quite registering in your brain because of the mind-numbing pills you’re finally old enough to take. Regardless, you take a deep breath and tighten your grip on the bag’s strap before walking up to a cluster of kids looking about your age.

You don’t remember what you say to them, but you do remember a girl with long straight blonde hair telling you that different majors aren’t supposed to mix with each other. Giving the group a once-over you can tell that she’s bullshitting you, but you shrug it off, moving on to another group in hopes you’ll make even just one friend. By the time you are all settled into the spaces that’ll be your rooms for the next few years you talked to about everyone willing and unwilling to talk and no one seemed to really care for more than a whole two seconds as the novelty of your arrival wears off. You lie to yourself that it doesn’t bother you as loneliness hangs over your head like a dark cloud, following your every step.

The night you and Kobra escape to the Desert you make a silent promise that from that moment on you’ll never be sorry for anything ever again. That lasts about a whole two days.


	6. Afraid of heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet Star comforts Party Poison on a particulary shitty night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Surprisingly, none  
> Additional notes: I really said "Poison can be a little babey. As a treat" with this one, huh?

Jet has never liked heights. It’s just something in his brain that makes it look like the ledge is always way too close and that one wrong step will make him fall over the edge. He does, however like stars. The tiny lights dotting the sky thousands and thousands of miles above his head have always brought him comfort; even gave him a name. Some one a long time ago had told him that after someone dies, their soul gets added to the intricate watercolor of the sky in the form of a star to look over the ones they loved, and ever since he never felt truly lonely.

Tonight is no different, as the diner’s front door opens lazily- bell long lost to time and maybe something else- and the cool breeze brushes the killjoy’s hair in his eyes since he’s too busy hugging his jacket around him. The stars twinkle above, chatting among eachother in a mesmerizing pattern that can only leave you wondering what is it that they’re talking about. Sand and gravel crackle under the soles his boots as the man steps out from under the overhang at the entrance of the building that serves as home for an old defunct ‘DINER’ sign.

He’s quietly wondering at the scene before him when a quiet noise breaks him from the spell that the sky had seemingly cast on him; maybe _that’s_ what the stars are saying. Jet looks around disoriented, trying to figure out if he’s only imagined the noise- he’d gone out into the desert with Ghoul to make sure he doesn’t accidentally blow himself up the day before, go figures- when he heard it again. It was only a sniffle, but the killjoy’s brain quickly connected the dots between it and the crew member that was mysteriously missing when he woke up.

With a grimace, he walks over to the side of the building where an old trash can with a bent lid is pushed against the wall under a ladder. Making sure his footing is even, the man hauls himself up onto the ladder, gripping the metal wrungs tightly as he slowly crawls his way up to the rooftop. With a deep breath, he steels himself for the short, yet treacherous walk to the person sitting hunched over way too close to the edge for Jet’s comfort. But then again, most times being anywhere close to a ledge is too close to a ledge.

Deep in focus, he almost trips over the step created where the overhang and the rooftop meet, but he quickly catches himself before he can eat a face of…whatever the overhang is made of and scare his friend in the process. When he does make it over there he sits down a good foot away from the latter, quietly relishing in the fact he’s in still one piece for a moment.

“Poison."he says quietly and the red-haired rebel shows no other sign that they’ve heard him other then flinching before their sniffles start to quiet down.

The air around them is awkward and Jet pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly. He knows better than to try to get closer to Poison because if push comes to shove- well, let’s just say that the younger killjoy’s outbursts are every bit as violent and destructive as bright is their hair and the former would much rather not have his nose broken or anything of that nature.

"Hey, Jet."they croak out eventually. Their voice cracks on the 'hey’, but they seem determined to not acknowledge it,"Why you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep."Jet admits truthfully and the other gives him a sympathetic nod, "What 'bout you?”

The leader laughs awkwardly, but they don’t answer, instead letting a thick silence stick to them like molasses. They sit like that for a while, just looking up at the sky like it was emparting the secrets of the Universe onto them- and maybe it really was, but it wasn’t telling them to Jet Star, as far as he could tell. All of a sudden Poison’s gaze snaps to him and Jet catches their eye before they crawl into the latter’s lap and wrap their arms tightly around his torso, burying their face in their shoulder. The sudden movement takes him by surprise, but nontheless, he reciprocates, holding them close and rubbing circles on their back as they quietly sobbed into his jacket.

Jet has never liked heights…but he can make an exception when it comes to his family.


	7. Low Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul goes out to blow shit up without telling anyone and ends up maybe dying (idk, man, i just work here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Death/Implied death, Blood mention  
> Additional notes: This idea actually came to me while listening to Low Expectations by Anti-flag which is extremely unrelated to the plot of this drabble, but slaps nontheless

Ghoul always had low expectations, but bleeding out all alone out in Zone Four wasn’t quite the way he thought he’d go. It wasn’t even his fault that time- he’d taken all the safety measures the others always nagged him about for once- but rather the fault of a well-timed drac patrol.

Two cars, one bomb and no road sight, the killjoy decided to have some fun. Catching the dracs attention was easy enough and when they were exactly where Ghoul wanted them to be he pressed the button on the detonator, blasting them to the heavens above in a ball of flames. It was beautiful like the firework shows on the Forth of July that D told them about must’ve been, but clearly better since instead of many tiny explosions it was just one massive one.

He didn’t see that one of the draculoids had survived until the dust that was kicked up by the explosion had settled back down and before he could draw his blaster he felt a hot pain in his side. After that his mind went on auto-pilot: aim, pull the trigger, land a shot right between the bastard’s souless eyes, touch his wound though his shirt, _red_. Run. He hadn’t gotten far before he fell face-first into the sand.

So, there he was, laying sprawled on the desert floor and bleeding miles away from his home and crew with no way to contact them. As he quietly cursed the sun for burning his face and making him feel all drowsy- though really that was most likely because of blood loss- he remembered Kobra mentioning off-handedly that drac and crow cars come with built-in communication devices sort of like the set up they had back at the Diner.

Getting back up on his feet, he stagered over to the totalled remains of the cars, carefully stepping around the few dracs littering the ground near the vehicles. From the corner of his eye he can spot the fairly sizable dip in the sand his bomb had left behind and he couldn’t help but feel proud that if he really was going to die that time, at least he’d have left his mark even if it was one of destruction.

The first car he inspected had somehow landed back on its wheels, but upon closer inspection the dashboard seemed to have been completely destroyed, a metal bar of uncertain origin having speared right through it. The second had a less fortunate landing, having hit the land on its trunk and ending up upside down, glass shards littering the ground around it. The driver was still in his seat, hanging limply from the seatbelt that was supposed to save its life. It couldn’t do much in the case of an explosion, though.

Crawling inside as carefully as he could, Ghoul found that the car’s dashboard was in fact still intact, the reciever dangling down by the cord plugged in the console that only left him with the hard part: twisting the knobs into the right position to tune into the Diner’s frequency despite of the swarms of white specks swimming in his vision.

“Ya’ bettah’ pick up, assholes.“ Ghoul grumbled as the radio came alive with static.

After an excruciating long moment Kobra’s voice came from the other end, “Where the fuck are you Ghoul?”

“Uhh…currently bleedin’ out in a drac car at ma’ bomb site. “ he paused, shifting with a groan to apply pressure on his side, “Why, ya’ wanna gossip? ‘M sure those bastards at HQ would love ta’ hear it.“

“What do you- _oh_.“ the younger said and the latter could almost see his stupid shocked expression…he’d miss it, “Shit, Ghoul. Hold- hold on. Jet! Jet, drag Poison’s ass to the AM! We gotta hit the red line! Yes, _now_ , Jet.“

“Dunno if i can, Kobes.“ the killjoy slurred with a pitiful chuckle, starting too feel more lightheaded than ever before.

“Don’t you dare turn to dust on me, motherfucker“ is all that was said before static took hold of the airwaves once again.

The desert was quiet and only grew quieter as Ghoul’s eyelids became heavier and heavier until they felt like a pound of lead was weighting them down. Despite this, the killjoy felt like he was floating, waves gently lapping over him as he drifted into the warm waters of the unknown. Funny…he never got to see the ocean.


	8. Poison Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison bullying hours!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Implied underage drinking (the Four are all still teenagers in my hcs)  
> Adittional notes: This is the shortest writing piece so far because i've written it while taking a long ass walk

One of the most prized possesions of a killjoy is their name. It shows who you _are_ and who you will be until the crows come crashing in and your colours are reduced to nothing but black-and-whites. It’s the identity you make for yourself and the person you grow to be known as, which is why you, Party Poison, are a molotov cocktail of bright lights and teenage angst ready to set the world ablaze.

There is nothing revolutionary in self-destruction and you know it well, but there’s a spark at the bottom of a bottle or after a closecall with the cats on the interstate and it makes you burn so bright as you crash and detonate like the mother of all bombs. It makes you who you are, so you do it again and again until you burn out like a collapsing star, taking everything you love down with you.

You’ve started this fire- red like your hair and the blood on your teeth- now watch it _burn_


	9. Names, their meanings and the things we don't say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cherri gets the worse end of the aftermath of one of Poison's bitchfits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Blood mention  
> Additional notes: I'm sorry Cherri Cola stans, i've let you down this time and did Cola dirty

When Cherri finds Poison they are sitting outside the radio shack. The young killjoy is leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from their lips as they gaze off to somewhere far away, somewhere inbetween where the desert and night sky meet. They look like someone Cherri would’ve seen on the cover of one of the rock magazines D used to have way back- someone youthful and filled with self-righteous angst that was destined to fizzle out into being no one at all by 30.

“You put up quite the show back there.“ Cherri off-handedly remarks from behind and the latter flinches.

“Yeah, well, my name ain’t _Party Poison_ for nothing.“ they snarkily reply, not bothering to turn around.

“Wasn’t always.“ the older mumbles and this time Poison does turn around, fixing them with a glare.

“Like you’re one to talk _Agent_ Cherri Cola.“ they spit out the word ‘agent‘ like it’s a city pill and even if Cherri knows they don’t really mean it, it still stings.

There is a beat of silence before the red-haired leader realises what they had just said and their eyes widen in shock.

“Shit, Cola, i didn’t mean-“ they scramble to apologise, but the other silences them with a shake of their head.

“It’s fine, i know you didn’t.“ the latter reasures with an awkward smile and a pause, “It’s just that you say an awful lot of things you don’t mean.“

“Oh, fuck you and your reason and logic.“ Poison scoffs, crushing the butt of their cigarrette under their boot.

Cherri rolls their eyes, but doesn’t retaliate, instead returning to the subject at hand, “You can’t push them away forever, Poison.”

“Watch me.“ the younger replies way too quickly, for a moment reverting to the scared kid ready to run off at any moment that they were when they first met.

“You’ve moved in together, you’re basically _married_ at this point.“ the other sighs.

“Ew! No. That’s my little brother.“ the red-haired killjoy screws their eyes shut and shields their face with their hands as if it’d protect them from the mental image they’ve created.

“You know what i mean.“ Cherri deadpans and the other finally drops the act along with their gaze, the thin layer of sand below their feet suddenly becoming oddly intriguing.

The air between the two is silent as the older lets their mind wander, going through tomorrow’s to-do list and trying to figure out why the drac patrouls coming from down in Two have allegedly changed their usual route. They’re in the middle of coming up with a new line for the poem they’ve been writting when Poison interrupts them by pulling on their sleeve.

“Cola, your arm…“ they trail off, sounding concerned and when the killjoy looks down they notice that one of the scabs on their inner arm is bleeding again, their other hand frozen in place not far away from the crime scene.

“Shit.“ the latter cusses, internally slapping themself for not having more self-control.

“There’s some bandaids in the Am.“ the younger offers awkwardly, fidgeting with their brightly dyed hair.

Cherri agrees wordlessly, part not to make it any more awkward than it is and part because Pony would slap them upside the head if the scratch got infected. The two walked quietly over to the car, the noises of the late evening being the only sound between them. Once to the car, the teen rummages through the glovebox, coming up with a small scratched-up tin box and then pops the trunk, presumably to get something to clean the reopened wound.

The older takes this time to sit down in the shotgun seat of the vehicle, mindlessly kicking the dirt below with their shoes as they retreat back in their thoughts to pass the time. Funny…they are 26 and still acting like an angsty teen angry at exsistence itself. Poison returns soon enough, snapping them out of their thoughts, with a water bottle and washcloth in hand.

“This is probably not necessary, but this is what Jet usually does..” they mumble more to themself rather than anyone else, pouring some water on the cloth and grabbing the other’s arm.

They wipe off the area where the scab already started to form again a few times until they were happy with it, then set the bottle and cloth aside, popping the lid of the tin and putting a bandaid to prevent any dirt or further scratching to get to the wound.

“Thank you.” Cherri says and Poison nods their head cooly- they’re shutting off again and the older knows better than to push them. “Just give what i told you some thought, yeah?”


	10. Knockoff Cherri Cola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shitty poem that i wrote a la cheap knockoff Cherri Cola

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): None

Neon lights

Battery fights

Black and whites

Colors swirling down the drain.

Stolen guns

Burning suns

Stubborn spirits

Running down the Getaway Mile.

Sleepless nights

Graveyard hearts

Playground eyes

Falling asleep with you in my arms

Watching as the sky falls down


	11. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Ghoul go on a late night walk and have an important converation along the way back home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): None  
> Additional notes: Someone give Jet a hug, he needs it 

Faint light trickles into the old diner kitchen as Jet cracks open a door and quietly slips into Ghoul’s workshop. Shelves line the walls, holding some of the few belongins of the Four- cans of Power Pup, bottles of water, Kobra’s spray paint, scraps of old shirts and tech, empty boxes and an old car battery wired up to the lamp illuminating the room from its spot on a worn-out wooden desk.

The black haired killjoy is sitting in his swivel chair, swinging lazily from left to right and humming softly to himself something Jet can only assume he’s heard on the radio earlier that day. He seems focused and the older second-guesses whether he should just leave him be, but before he can make a decision his hand seems to make one for him, knocking twice on the metalic doorframe.

The killjoy stops from what he was doing, putting down a tool on the desk with a small _thud_ and pushing the chair back to turn around to face the other. The yelowish glow of the lamp behind him casts deep shadows on his face making him look sickly and tired, but nontheless he smiles when he notices his friend sitting in the doorway.

“Hey, Jet, wha’s up?“ he greets, stretching out his limbs like he’s been sitting in the one position for a while. Maybe he has, it’s not like Jet could tell since they have no clocks in here, but that’s besides the point.

“Wanted to check where you were before i headed out.“ the older shrugs, purposefully omitting the part where he wanted to ask the other if he wanted to walk with him. He probably has more important stuff to do anyway.

“Cool.“ Ghoul nods, getting up from his seat and picking up something the other can’t quite make out in the low light, “Le’s go.“

Jet blinks confused, but doesn’t argue, instead opening the door again and heading out, followed closely by the younger. Before leaving the old defunct kitchen he throws one last look to the siblings sleeping in a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows pushed in a corner close to the door. Poison is sprawled on their back on top of Kobra who’s sleeping on his stomach and clinging tightly onto a pillow, drool slowly dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The cold desert air hits the curly haired killjoy facefirst as he steps outside of the diner, blowing hair in his face and sending a familiar, but not unwelcomed, shiver down his spine. The two start walking when the shorter pulls on his sleeve and whines that if they don’t start moving soon he’s going to freeze, which the older is concerned about for a moment before noticing that the other is not wearing his usual vest, but instead Poison’s old denim jacket- or, well, at this point it’s probably more _his_ than Poison’s.

Silence doesn’t last long as the killjoys talk about whatever comes to mind, be it Jet telling Ghoul about the desert and the critters living in it or the younger telling him about robots and all sorts of science-y stuff he doesn’t quite understand, but finds fascinating nontheless. Even when there’s no talking, it’s far from silent, the raven ‘joy claping his hands in front of and behind him in a rythmic motion with a fond smile on his face, ocassionally chuckling to himself. And maybe that’s why the latter likes walking with him so much- because he never makes him feel _alone_.

The shorter killjoy is about halfway through his retellling of Kobra’s first time in the Lobby when he pauses with a frown and turns around to face the other.

“Hey, Jet, you okay?“ he asks, sounding genuinely concerned and the older freezes in his tracks taken back by the unexpected question.

“Yeah.“ he answers eventually, not knowing what else to say, “Yeah, i’m fine, why?“

“Dunno, you seemed quiet.“ Ghoul shrugs.

“I’m fine.“ Jet repeats, though he’s not so sure who it’s for anymore.

The latter nods, changing the subject, “Do ya’ think ‘Stroya ‘s come down one day an’ free the City?”

Now it’s the taller’s turn to shrug, “Maybe.” he says, looking up at the sky to see all the stars twinkle against the inky black night.

“Imagine how cool tha’d be!“ the black haired ‘joy smiles to himself, “Jus’ a massive fuckin’ robot wrecking BL/i’s shit.“

“Hmmm, yeah, that’d be pretty cool.“ the other muses, earning a light elbow in the side from the younger.

“Borin’ ol’ man.“ he laughs, making Jet fein an offended gasp.

“I’m only two and a half years older than you!“ the boy sticks his tongue out at the other, making him laugh.

“’Sactly! Tha’s like… _ancient_.“ Ghoul says matter-of-factly with a wide grin before running off and leaving the latter no other choice than to chase after him.

By the time the diner comes back into view, the two have already slowed down to a walking pace, panting out of breath after running the better half of their initial walk. They’re almost within earshot of the building when the curly haired ‘joy stops in his tracks, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, Ghoul?“ he says, biting the inside of his cheek, “If Kobra and Poison decided to leave one day, would you go with them?“

The other looks confused at him, cocking his head to the side, “Wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not how i meant it.“ the older sighs and watches Ghoul’s expression turn from confusion to realisation.

“I still prolly would.“ he answers, making Jet’s heart sink to the bottom of his stomach like it has stopped beating and turned to solid stone, “Only ‘coz sumone’s gotta smack sum sense into ‘em.“ he quickly adds and the older’s heart seems to leap right back into its place trying to act like nothing has ever happened.

“Oh.“ it’s all he can muster to answer.

“Jet, we’d never leave ya’.“ the younger says softly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, “You’re our fr’end- hell, our _crew member_. We family.“

“Huh, didn’t know you could be mature.“ the taller jokes, mostly because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. Goddammit, usually he’s the one who’s good with this stuff.

“Hey, i can be mature if i wanna.“ the raven ‘joy protests, “Anyway, last to the diner ’s a stinky drac boot!“ he declares before making a run for their base.

“Hey, not fair!“ Jet cries out, running after him again.

They crash through the diner’s front door at the same time, falling in a giggling heap on the floor. When they finally look up they’re greeted by an annoyed looking Poison in front of them, impatiently tapping their foot on the tiles. They’re probably in deep shit, but honestly? They don’t care.


	12. No room for heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxx being artsy fartsy about their headcanons while having an existential crissis Part 2: Electric Bugaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Mild angst  
> Additional notes: I just like talking crap at 4am, man, i dunno

Party Poison is not a hero. Party Poison was born out of fear. Party Poison was born out of anger. Party Poison was born out of grief.

Kobra Kid is not a hero. Kobra Kid was born out of loss. Kobra Kid was born out of frustration. Kobra Kid was born out of guns and blades put into kids’ hands.

Jet Star is not a hero. Jet Star was born out of neccessity. Jet Star was born out of deciet. Jet Star was born out of the very dust of the desert.

Fun Ghoul is not a hero. Fun Ghoul was born out of loneliness. Fun Ghoul was born out of chemical fumes and machine parts. Fun Ghoul was born out of everything the City finds unsightly.

The Fab Four are not heroes, just a mess of teenagers at best, but still they go out and fight. They fight for themselves, they fight for others, they fight to spite BL/i- whatever their reasons are, they _fight_. And in their fighting they have created a dent, be it intentional or not. It’s barely noticable, but it’s there and it’s big enough to catch little droplets of hope.

Afterall, that’s all heroes are for- they’re not some knights in shining armour sweeping in to save the day over and over until their weathered hearts give out under the pressure- they’re there to give people hope and that’s exactly what the Fab Four do.

So, then, the question remains: _Are_ they heroes?

Well…that’s all up to them to decide, isn’t it?


	13. An exercice of remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison's latest existential crissis ends up requirng divine intervention. Unfortunately, the Witch is the only deity available

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Mild angst, i guess  
> Additional notes: Hey, remember when i mentioned how i seem to love writing at 4am? Yeah, it's almost 4am for me now :)

A tall figure shrouded in dark feathers towers above Party Poison, looking down upon them from behind the mask hiding what lays beneath. Despite never seeing her before, they know who she is, their bones screaming out her name like a mantra meant to keep them safe from the icy claws of the desert night. Or maybe they met her before, in a dream- the kind that you wake up in a cold sweat from without remembering what or why or when or where- but that doesn’t matter. What matters are the words weighting heavy on their tongue.

“It’s not my time yet.“ Poison’s voice revertebrates, their indignant words swimming through their ears as they realise they haven’t even spoken.

There is a low rumble, similar to someone would snickering at their words, and the feathery coat of the Witch bounces playfully in sync with the sound, a few feather coming loose and turning into whisps of dark gray smoke before they even hit the ground. It feels like time has come to a halt as they stare at her in a mix of fear and fascination.

“It is not,“ the Witch agrees and her words sound familiar, yet completely unheard before at the same time- almost as if the people they know and the people they’re yet to, talked together as one voice-, “But you need to get your shit together.“

Her words come like a slap to the face and Poison has to bite their tongue to stop the words threatening to spill out of their mouth- there is a reason behind why they chose to dye their hair a fiery red and it’s more than just wishing to always have a piece of their brother with them. This place- wherever _this_ is, exactly- seems to have other plans, though.

“I don’t need _your_ help.“ their thoughts hiss full of venom, but the Phoenix Witch doesn’t even flinch, instead staring right through them before turning away to look towards the horizon.

“Walk with me.“ it isn’t a question and Poison abides quietly, nearly faceplanting into the ground when they try to get up without realising they’ve been floating in place this entire time.

The Witch is wheeling along an old rusty shopping cart with a few colorful masks scattered at the very bottom, a sight which creates a deep pit in the young killjoy’s stomach like a hole left behind by white hot lazer. They don’t like to think much about the day they are reduced to nothing but more dust in the desert, despite the way the seem to tiredlessly chase after it, but when they do they hope someone brings their mask to the mailbox.

“You know...you puzzle me, Poison.“ the Pheonix Witch says, using their name as if they are old childhood friends instead of...whatever it is they are to eachother.

“How so?“ the words come out sounding more condescending than they would’ve liked, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re incredibly thick-skulled.“ she deadpans, continuing before they even get to protest, “You are just so convinced you’re all alone despite having all these people who care around you and you keep running away from them. I swear sometimes i’m convinced you’ve forgotten why you chose to become a killjoy in the first place.“

“I didn’t cho-“ Poison turns around to retaliate, but the Witch is gone and they’re standing somewhere they swore never to set foot again.

The floor is made of concrete and the walls are light shade of cream, there’s wooden cupboards on either side of them and when they look in the corner by the washing machine there’s a small puddle catching the droplets falling from a particulary yellowed patch in the celing. The scratched up white door flies open with a bang and Poison turns around already reaching for their gun when they freeze mid-motion.

Bareling down the well-worn steps is a mother and her two kids- a ten year old and an eleven year old- gripping tightly onto the flimsy railing as she urges them to go faster down the steps. Poison doesn’t realise they’re going to run into them until it’s too late- they try to step out of the way, but the linked hands of the mother and one of her children pass right through them, distorting just like the images reflected in puddle after you jump in it do. The two seem unfazed as the woman hauls her youngest onto the drier and instructs the other to hide in the cupboard next to it and retuns her attention to the ten year old who she hides in one of the top cupboards.

Straightening the creases in her pale dress, she takes in a deep breath and adjusts her position before turning away and heading back for the door. They’d never realised how young she was- though they suppose that most kids don’t notice that about their mothers- but she was _young_ and the realisation hit them in the gut like a sack of bricks, making them stumble back a step. As if some greater power was fucking with them, they look up at the door just in time to catch her eyes as she slowly closes the door. They’re the same warm shade honey brown that they remember them being, but they are sadder than Poison had ever seen her, a grim sense of resignation shading her features. She _knew_.

The soft click of the door breaks them from whatever spell they were stuck in before and they stumble over their legs as they scramble over to the door, struggling with the doorknob as it refuses to open. There’s the faint buzz of a car engine coming from outside and they know it can’t be further away than a few blocks at best as they begin banging their shoulder on the door more insistently in hopes it will give out and let them do _something_. Anything.

The car can’t be more than one or two houses down when the door flings wide open, letting Poison fall flat on their side as it shuts closed behind them. They end up in an eerily familiar room, though not the one they expected, this room being way colder and so dark they could barely could make out their hand in front of their eyes. There’s mechanical noises and mumbles that they can make out to be D, Pony and Cherri frantically discussing something coming from above, though they can’t tell what exactly what they’re saying as the concrete floor muffles the sound. There’s something else too- it’s quiet, but it almost sounds like...oh no. Oh no nononono. _No_.

Huddled together in the corner, there’s two teenagers- an eighteen year old and a barely seventeen year old- the younger crying softly with their knees hugged tightly to their chest as the latter keeps a protective arm around them. The memories of that day flood Poison’s mind, knocking the air out of their lungs and mixing in with the events playing out around them. Their laboured breaths shut out the silence and they jump as the trapdoor slams open, the stream of words coming from above resuming, but they don’t have time to make out what’s being said as a blinding flash of light goes off so bright it makes their ears ring.

When they peer open their eyes again, the ringing is gone and they feel weirdly floaty- like they not entirely there or more accurately _like they are slipping away_. This all gets pushed in the back of their mind however as they hear Kobra laughing and they will themself with all their strenght to follow the sound.

They find themself behind the Diner, looking at another version of them sitting cross-legged on the hood of the Trans Am and going on a passionat rant about whatever as Jet nods his head along distractedly and grabs a wrench before dissapearing under the car. To the side, Kobra is painting something on the side of the diner, rolling his eyes when he looks over to see that Ghoul and a little girl Poison’s never seen before had doodled all over the carefully painted background. 

The last thing they remeber seeing is the image of light spilling over the hills as the black shiluette of a spider blocks the view of the sun, before they wake up with a start with cold sweat running down the side of their face and plastering their bright red hair against their temple. Their heart is thumping loudly, threatening to burst out of their chest, as they shakily get back on their feet and stand up tall against the morning sun. It’s time for them to go home.


	14. The first punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison decides it's time for them and Ghoul to end their feud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Light blood mention, Mild angst

Ever since they met, Party Poison hates Fun Ghoul and Fun Ghoul hates Party Poison. It is simply a given fact at this point and anyone unfortunate enough knows that their relationship is all sharp words, glares and bared teeth- two feral coyotees circling each other ready to pounce at any given moment.

But they never do, their usual spats that end in muttered curses and queit promises they’ll get back to the other one day. Maybe it’s because it would be too public or maybe because it’d create too much of a fuss or maybe because they don’t really want to punch each other as badly as they say they do- whichever one it is, not even they are certain.

And, well, that’s exactly why Poison is there tonight.

Ghoul stares at them like they just said they were the second coming of Destroya as they tiredly drag a hand across their face with a sigh. When the red haired ‘joy proposed that the two meet up, they were convinced they would be rejected. Instead, the raven accepted- albeit a little reluctant and throwing confused looks like wordlessly asking _What are you doing?_ \- but agreed nontheless.

Truth is, Poison has no idea what they’re doing. All they know is that they’re _tired_ , really really fucking tired, and they want whatever feud the two of them have gone. So, after taking in a deep breath they repeat their offer.

“I said you can puch me. You clearly want to, so let’s get this over with.“ the older deadpans, searching the latter’s features for anything but the flabberghasted look they wore.

Almost like a switch flips in their brain, Ghoul’s expression twists into a skeptical frown and they take a few step back, “You’re fuckin’ with me.” they reply, somewhere inbetween accusatory and disbelieving.

“I’m not.“ the other killjoy raises their hands up defensively with a pause before slowly sitting down on the ground, “Look. I swear to the Witch, you can hit me however hard you want. I won’t try to stop you.“

The raven doesn’t seem fully conviced, but they step closer regardlesss, bringing their fist back ready to swing. Poison screws their eyes shut and a searing numb pain shoots through their jaw where the younger’s knuckles connect with the bone and the impact throws them off balance. Blood drips in their mouth and they spit it out in the sand next to them as they gingerly ghost their fingers over the spot that would most probably bruise over from the punch.

When they look up, the latter is holding out a hand for them and it’s now the red haired killjoy’s turn to be on the giving end of mile-long dumb looks as their eyes flicker between their face and the other’s hand. Eventually, they take it, getting hauled back on their feet as well as someone a good head shorter than you can and they smile.

“Okay, so now that i got that out of my system-“ they start out with a lighthearted tone of voice that quickly turns serious and slightly concerned, “Are you okay, man?“

No, Poison _is not_ okay, and it’s only in part because of the righteous punch the younger served them. The whole reason they are here tonight is because they aren’t okay, but they aren’t about to tell them that. Not so soon after their feud ended. Not when they still aren’t sure how much they trust them.

“Not a man.“ is the answer they settle on and Ghoul grins, a mischievious glint in their eyes like they’re about to share the best secret they’ve ever heard.

“Yeah. Me neither.“


	15. Late night conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two tired killjoys talking nonsense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Smoking, Death mention, Angst (as per usual, it’s me afterall)  
> Additional notes: Inspired by [this dialogue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019632) by [@Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth) because it absolutely slaps and it made me want to fuck around with dialogues more, but with more narration because, again, it’s me. I will tell you everything as i daydreamed it and you’ll have to put up with it <3

“Those are bad for you, y’know.“ a voice says from behind them, but they don’t bother to turn around.

“Yeah, but you’re good for me, so they cancel out.“ they argue, frowning when they don’t feel the pack of cigarettes in their back pocket where they left it.

“That’s the most bullshit thing i’ve heard you say so far, _for sure_.“ the latter laughs, mumbling from around the cigar as they light it up, “Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Do i have a choice?“ the first sighs and can almost see the smirk forming on the other’s face.

“Oh, absolutely not,” they muse, “But it’s nice to think you do.“

“How uplifting.“ the former scoffs sarcasticaly.

“Hey, i’m not the one sulking out here.“ they point out and, okay, they _do_ have them there.

“I dunno, just...everything’s been feeling november lately and i’ve tried to tell myself it’s all just in my head- i swear i did- but...“ the killjoy trails off, crushing the cigarette butt under the heel of their boot.

“Yeah, i know what you mean.“ the other pauses, taking a long drag before exhaling, “The zones are so full of ghosts these days they start walking amongst us. Or maybe we start walking amongst them- it’s all blurred together. Dead, undead, _alive_. It’s all the same thing seen through different fun house mirrors.“

“Who’s the one talking bullshit now?“ the first points out, a small smile creeping it’s way on their face.

“Oh, fuck off.“ the latter teases before silence falls between the two.

“You know what i find funny?“ the first starts, but doesn’t wait for an answer before they continue, “Everyone says we’re the revolution, the begining of the end, the death of bli- but it doesn’t _feel_ like it. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. At the end of the day, i doubt there’ll even be someone to deliver our masks to the mailbox...“

“Don’t say that.“ the other killjoy snaps, their voice softening as they continue, “We’re doing something and in world where there’s a whole bunch of people doing a whole lot of nothing. That’s enough. It _has_ to be. And there’s someone out there who cares...“

“Maybe.“ the former sighs, leaning against the wall and wraping their arms around themself.

“That’s not a no.“ the second says, a hopeful undertone lining their voice.

“It’s not a yes either.“ they remind them.


	16. Hope And the 21st Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re driving through Zone Three when suddenly you find yourself caught in the middle of a sandstorm. Thankfully, there seems to be some sort of diner up ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Slight Mentions Of Unreality, Second Person POV

You’ve been driving for what feels like hours, but the sandstorm doesn’t show signs of stopping any time soon. You’re not even sure how you ended up in this situation- you were just driving through Zone Three and the sky was clear, but then suddenly everything turned dark and dust started flying everywhere, making the road into nothing but a haze.

You should’ve made it into Zone Two by now, but all you can see are vague brown-ish blobs shaped like Joshua trees, cacti and shrubs. Somewhere in the distance you can make out a smudge that looks sort of like a building, so you step on the gas and pray to the Witch that you’ll be able to take shelter in there because your tank will run dry soon enough.

The smudge turns out to be a diner and a bell rings above your head as you barge in, welcoming you to the establishment. Inside it’s weirdly packed, people without masks chatting idly at their tables over the clinking of dishes and cutlery, not giving you even a glance as you reluctantly make your way to the front of the diner where you hope someone will be able to explain to you what’s this place- or better yet _where,_ because this is definitely not the Zones.

“Ha! Hope.“ a creepy old dude cackles from one of the tables in the back, “There’s no such thing as hope in the 21st century.“

You ignore him and walk up to the bar, sitting down at one of the tall red stools. At first you wait patiently, but the barkeep seems crossed on ignoring you as they mill back and forward between the rack of alcohol bottles behind them and the other customers sitting besides you. When you try to speak up to get his attention, you find out your voice doesn’t make a sound- almost like there is no air in your lungs, despite the fact that you’re breathing just fine.

“They can’t hear you, kid. None of them do.“ the guy in the back says and you turn around just in time to see him crack a nasty grin, “Well, except me, of course.“

You squint at him and carefully step closer until you are sitting in the booth across the table from the stranger. He only watches you with an amused expression all the way, swishing around the water in his glass before downing the drink in one go and slamming the empty glass on the table when you finally sit down. You’ve met plenty of strange runners in your life, but something about this one just gives you the chills.

“You’re not from around here, are you?“ the man smirks like there’s some sort of inside joke hidden amongst his words, but you don’t get it.

Of course you arent- you live all the way in sunny Zone Five where everyday you melt off the soles of your shoes because of either the heat or the puddes left behind by the acid rain. The wheather’s always all polka dottie in that part of the desert, but you’ll take shit wheather any day over annoying crash queens and all the drac patrouls the inner zones get. Killjoy life may be anything but peacful, but you still do your best to avoid stupid conflicts.

“So you’re calling yourselves killjoys now, eh? What happened to zone rats- or even rebels! That one fit you best, i say. A bunch of self-important teens thinking they can change the world by running around aimlessly with guns and spraycans.“ he chuckles dryly, but the words burn through you like hot iron.

You clench your fist and the lurch forward, punching the man square in his jaw, but the moment your knuckles collide with his face, your hand passes through him like you’re made of smoke and you fall across the table. A hand grabs you by your jacket’s collar and pulls you up enough so your eyes meet the stranger’s who’s staring you down with a dark expression.

“Listen here, you little pest.“ he grits through a smile with a sinister cut to it and you can swear his teeth are freakishly sharp and jagged, “The revolution is a lie, so you better crawl back to your hole and hide in there until you die because nobody’s saving the world.“

Once he’s finished speaking, he shoves you roughly back in your seat and you just about trip over your own feet as you scramble away from him, mind reelling from trying to understand his crazy rambles. Somehow you make it to the door and you push it open with your shoulder, not caring if the sandstorm has died down or not anymore. The bell rings above as to wish you good riddance.

Outside, your car isn’t where you left it anymore, replaced by trees and cacti contorting in seemingly painful ways. You turn around and the building you came out of has disappeared into thin air, but you notice a car and two colorful vaguely human-shaped blobs. They turn out to be X-Ray and Cherry- two crash queen kids from your sister’s crew- but they look way older than last you’d seen them when passing through Four last week. When you ask them about it they exange a look you don’t quite understand.

“This is Zone Six,“ they tell you, “you’ve been gone for over two years.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A stupid short story for an equally stupid mindset that i'm in <3


	17. Polaroids from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vague summaries of the backstories of each member of the WKIL station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a fancy-worded hc post, but eh. It's literary enough to fit in here

Dr. Death Defying wasn't always the voice of the Zones- a guiding light in BL/i's artificial night. He once was young, and the world was oh so big and the future so bright. Too big, perhaps, but he had more than enough friends to fill up the space. Then all too sudden the world became so small it was hard to breathe. Old friends drifted apart or stepped into the blinding light of a promised better future and he was left almost all alone save for one person who stuck around.

The doctor found his breath again in music, hidden amongst the loud words being spat into a microphone like ornated knives getting thrown with precission. It was electric and it didn't take him long to learn that the shadows in the corner of his eye aren't quiet as they say. They whisper to those who listen- or rather to eachother, but they do it so it's not hard to overhear- like kids that are up past their bedtime. They talked about much bigger things, though. They talked about revolution and that lit a spark inside him he thought to be long gone.

Cherri Cola wasn't always the Zone's favourite tired poet- a parental figure in a way only someone you're not directly related to can be and someone whose golden-plated word weight more than lead. They once were loud and reckless, a true rebel without a cause even after they found their fight. They didn't care much for words as they did for having a gun in their hands and a drink at some dingy bar in the Lobby with their friends afterwards. War always takes more than it gives and they learnt it later rather than sooner, the realisation coming crashing down around them like BL/i flies.

They found their words after driving out to the Zones in a rickety old van with all that they had left- which wasn't all that much. At first it was just clusters of letters that turned into words on scrap pieces of paper. Words turned into sentences and sentences turned into poems, but they didn't quite right. They never did. Still, they've spoken them on air, letting them scatter as buterflies in the wind hoping that maybe, _maybe_ someone else out there knew what they meant. No one really ever did, though.

Show Pony wasn't always a crash queen- someone bright like a disco ball in the neons of the Lobby. They were once small, scared and quiet as a mouse. People pushed them around and they didn't put up a fight- why would they have? It would've done nothing but get them in trouble and they had enough of them already. Still, they were always curious by nature and that's how they got all tangled up with a bunch of juvee halls- even though back then they were called something else.

They became their family and taught them more than enough to take back control of their life. Their time together was short and it ended in a fashion that'd envy any Shakespear play, but it was what made them cross the metaphorical line in the sand that had meanwhile turned into a proper trench. For the first time in six years they were just a nobody aimlessly difting around, and with a pair of rollerskates and a helmet in their hand they never felt more free ever before


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra and Poison get separated of their crew in a clap and are forced to actually talk to eachother for once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Kobra & Poison Sibling Angst  
> Additional notes: This hurt to write, but angst is what i do best for a reason, goddammit. Also, for extra emotional pain listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNyC0GmHpWY) while reading because i did while writing & got many feeling (NOT CLICKBAIT). No, but fr, this band's got quality sad shit

Orange flames lick at the early night sky, thin branches and dry shrubs cracking into the fire. Poison pokes some dry grass with a stick until it catches on and tries to ignore the way way Kobra is glaring at them from the other side of the fire like they’d killed his cat or something- which they didn’t do, for the record, seeing as they don’t even _have_ a cat. Still, Kobra’s gaze doesn’t soften even a little and Poison’s starting to think they like him more with his shades on.

  


“What are we doing again?“ Kobra grumbles, picking up a stick half-buried in the ground and using it to poke at the burning ambers.

  


Poison knows it’s a rethorical question, but they answer it regardless, if only to fill the silence, “We’re wating for Jet and Ghoul to show up- hopefully with the Am- so we can go back to the Diner.”

  


“Why can’t we just go there now? It’s not like they don’t know where it is.“ the younger huffs and his sibling has to blink hard to make the image of a nine year old boy with shaggy dity blonde hair and a million watt smile go away. That kid is dead, yet at the same time, he’s sitting across from them all grown up- life’s just weird like that sometimes.

  


“Because that’s almost a whole zone away, Kobra.“ they sigh and bite their tongue before they accidentally slip out something about how they don’t even know if the other half of their crew has even made it out of the clap in one piece. That’s a dangerous train of thought and, quite frankly, Poison doesn’t want to go down it tonight.

  


Kobra doesn’t say anything and just scowls at the fire, which Poison can’t tell if is better or worse than their previous situation. On one hand their younger brother wasn’t trying to strangle them with only his mind anymore, but on the other they couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He’s so quiet these days it damn near creeps them out, but they have no room to complain about it- before a few months ago the two hadn’t seen each other in over five years. People change, and Poison should know that best by now.

  


“So...what’s the plan?“ Kobra asks eventually, temptatively looking up at his sibling, “If we stay here in the open we’re basically asking for another clap.“

  


Kobra is right and Poison knows it, but unfortunately what they _don’t_ know is what they’re supposed to do next. Their only plan is to stay put until the others found them, but that plant has a massive flaw in it as the younger just pointed out. They settle on mumbling an “I don’t know.”, but that doesn’t seem to be a good answer as Kobra’s glare makes a thunderous return.

  


“You don’t know.“ Kobra says steadily, in a way that’s reminescent of the quiet before the storm- it’s way too calm- “You don’t know- Poison, your only _job_ is to know. You’re _the leader_. You’re the one who’s _supposed_ to know _._ “ his tone only gets increasingly incredulous as the words leave his mouth.

  


“I don’t _know_.“ Poison repeats a little frantic, their voice louder than intended, “I don’t know, okay? I’m- I just- _I don’t know!_ “

  


“Do you know _anything_ , Poison?“ Kobra snaps and they don’t even have to ask what he means before he’s spitting it out, almost as if the words taste bitter in his mouth, “You don’t know now, you didn’t know six years ago- what _do_ you know, Party Poison? Huh? What _is it_ that you know?“

  


“There was nothing I _could_ do!“ Poison defends, though not even they know what they’re refering to exactly,”I’m not some fucking superhero, Kobra! I can’t know everything and I sure as fuck can’t save the day!“

  


“You were _my_ hero, you dimwit! And you did shit when I needed you most!“ Kobra rethorts back and it’s like a shot to the chest with a blaster set to stunt. At some point they started shouting- though Poison can’t remember when- but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that their brother is staring at them with red-rimmed eyes as he adds four quiet words that make their stomach drop like they were just sent to death sentece, “I was only ten.”

  


Neither say anything after that. They don’t say anything because there’s nothing they _could_ say- no words that could fix the mess they’ve landed themselves in. Everything is fucked up beyond their ability to make it better, but it feels cowardly not to try- it feels selfish to accept they’ve done all they could and move on. Because everything was supposed to become better, not worse. Because _they_ were supposed to be better. Because _Poison_ was supposed to be better.

  


Something hits Poison’s jacket with a quiet ‘s _plat’_ and startles them out of their thoughts. It takes them a moment, but they soon realise it was a tear- they’re crying. Across from them, Kobra is rubbing his eyes, occasionally letting out annoyed huffs, but the older can tell he’s crying too by the way his bottom lip quivers ever so slightly. They get up and take a few unsteady steps before plopping themself back down next to their brother, who tentatively peeks at them from behind their fingers. Neither of them move, but then somehow Kobra’s head ends up on Poison’s shoulder and they rest their own head atop his. Their eyelids are heavy and before either of them know it, they’re asleep.


	20. Even Deities Have To Go On Long-Winded Rants Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witch giving Poison an annoyed lecture even though they can’t hear it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Angst, First Person POV Though It Isn’t Obvious Until Around The Very End, Fairly Long Paragraphs

You were- _are-_ a killjoy. A child of high-powered detonation and dreams of carbonation, born with a gun in your left and your right over your heart- cross yourself in hopes you die. But you know that already. You know deep within your bones that this isn’t where you’re supposed to be. That desert is calling for you- it _misses_ you- and if you just took off those stupid headphones, maybe you’d hear it too. But you don’t. You say that you’re happy, but you’re not. You say you’re purpose lays with a nine to five, but it doesn’t. You say a lot of things you don’t mean, Party Poison, but that never changed. Knowing you, it never will.

There are things that _did_ change, though- like your hair. It’s no longer a bright red color or long enough to blow like velvet curtain in the breeze of Zone Three. It’s a plain dirty blonde and cropped short with a perfect middle part that doesn’t suit you at all. Your words don’t hold the same weight anymore, either- they’re just birds made of glass with no soul to bring them to life. So they fall and shatter. They’re disposable. There’s nothing behind your eyes anymore, as if your own soul is somewhere far away. But that’s what you wanted, didn’t you? That’s why you all left your masks scattered across the zones- you didn’t want me to take them. That’s why with your dying breath you clung onto your siblings and your Girl. You wanted your spirit to stay in the zones with her.

You’re a smart one, Party Poison- i’ll give you that- but you’re all so selfish. It pains me to see you like this- an empty shell of what you used to be- and it’s not like i haven’t tried either, because _i did_ , but not even my powers are strong enough to bring you back. I don’t know how much of it is Fate and how much is Better Living’s tarnished electricity, but no matter how hard i grasp onto your souls i can’t reach any of you. So, i try to move on- roam the desert, collecting the masks of those who have no one to deliver them and help spirits pass on. It’s all so dull without the bunch of you, even if the zones see now three times as much action as they did when you were all still kicking and screaming. 

Nothing is the same- not even your beloved Dr. D. He made up heroics on air about how you’ve all died on the turf that you lived on, turning the desert crimson red, just so your memory would live on. Did you know that NewsAGoGo and Hot Chimp drove out beyond the radiation and way past Zone Seven? They were hoping to find me, the poor things, not knowing that much like yourselves i’m bound to this end-of-line deserted paradise. Wherever they are now, i hope they’re doing well. The Pony got pixelated in the am, trying to smuggle out some punkass juvee kids. Don’t worry, though, they got out of the City before their world became nothing more but an 8-bit dream of punk-rock and shining stars, and i took good care of them.

I’ve had to turn away Cherri Cola more times than i’d like to even think about. He had to hit the pavement facefirst so many times before he even took his first shakey step to getting back up again, i was just temped to see if i could keep him here with me. Fate wouldn’t have let me, though, so i just had watch him blame himself for your deaths over and over and over. He’s not the only one who does, though- your dear little Girl has bared that very same weight ever since the firefight, the ghosts of blasters and bodies hitting the floor lifeless and still haunting her nights. You left a mess behind, Party Poison, one that neither me or Destroya can do anything about other than sit around and watch.

Sometimes i wish Fate had chosen anyone else but the lot of you to be the heart of the revolution- to die for the cause- because maybe then i wouldn’t have to worry about the fact i’ve become more human because of you. Because maybe if the ones chosen were less reckless they wouldn’t have died somewhere out of my reach. Because maybe if they weren’t just a bunch of kids, they could’ve taken down Better Living. But that’s not how any of it would’ve turned out, is it? Because when the future is set in stone it doesn’t matter how small or strong or loud you are. We all lose regardless.


	21. This Is The End For You, My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short angst about the Sing mv because it lives in my mind rent-free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s) for: Brief Blood and Death Mentions  
> Additional Notes: Almost forgot to add this here- oops. Also, the title is an Anti-flag reference because they're my second favourite band

The gun falls to the floor with a clatter, red staining the yellow plastic. Red like its owner’s hair. Red like the snake-eyed kid’s jacket. Red like the spaceman’s stitches. Red like the ghoul’s grimace and the baby’s scream. Red red _red_. That’s all that Poison can see anymore.

Red like blood smeared on the face of a daylight vampire and the malice in an exterminator’s eyes. Like a dying sun setting over the horizon, plunging the world into a night that’s dark as a blackhole. Poison should know quite a bit about those, seeing as they have been one all their life- always pulling people in and destroying everything around them until there’s nothing left.

Tonight is how they disappear, in a pool of red on the stark white tiles trying to save a shooting star. Close your eyes, count down from four and hear the whisper a dying breath as the Blackbird cries. This is the longest night


	22. You Don't Have to Face Them All Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Kobra have a chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Discussion of Mental Health
> 
> Additional tags: A writing piece that’s dialogue only? On my blog? It’s more likely than you think. (Also, i'm still a bit insecure abt this one which is why it took so long to put it up here)

“It feels like drowning.“

“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to feel?“

“I- no? Yes..? Maybe? I don’t know,“ “They don’t exactly teach you these things in the City, Jet; how do you expect me to know?“

“Same way you expect me to, i suppose.“

“You’re not helping.“

“Because i don’t know _how to help_ , Kobra.“ 

“Sorry.“

“It’s fine just...tell me more? About how you feel, i mean.“

“Do i have to?“

“Not unless you want to take this one to the Doc during business hours. You know the station’s walls have ears, though.“

“ _Destroya_ , if Pone even said a word about it i’d bury their skates all across the Zones.“

“Okay, but they could talk about it and you wouldn’t even understand.“

“I’d get Poison to tell me if they are.“

“Poison doesn’t understand shit from what Pony says- they’ve just been called an idiot enough times to know what the word for that is.“

“Wait, is that how they know what you mean when you do your hand thing?“

“I usually call them an asshole, but yeah, pretty much.“

“Can you teach me how to do that?“

“What, ASL or calling Poison an asshole?“

“Both.“

“Sure. Maybe another time, though.“

“Okay.“ “...i’m trying to avoid the subject, y’know?“

“Mhmm.“

“Everything is just so big sometimes, but also so fucking small and it feels like Better Living is always looking over my shoulder- like they’re hovering somewhere out of sight. What if they get you? What if i’m the only one left? It’d be all my fault for not having done enough and just- fucking feelings are hard and confusing and i hate them.”

“Hey, no matter what we stick together, okay? And if for some Witch forsaken reason you _do_ end up alone, i’ll personally fight her on your behalf because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.“

“You promise?“

“Promise.“


End file.
